


love is a high (we feelin' alive)

by bazooka



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Sexual Content, mostly domestic fluff though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazooka/pseuds/bazooka
Summary: When they’d met Kyungsoo had hidden behind thick glasses and inside big coats and didn’t talk much even when Chanyeol badgered him every midnight shift when Kyungsoo sat at his regular booth with his laptop open and headphones on. Now… he still wears glasses and big puffy coats. He wears dad jeans and loafers and dark gray cable-knit sweaters from friends who accidentally stick them in the dryer. His last haircut was too short and he’s still growing it out and Chanyeol just wants to fuck him on the floor until they both pass out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to freal love a lot  
> cool

It’s October and the sun has already begun sinking down into the south, light arcing in low through red and gold leaves and crisp blue skies populated by clouds like frozen cotton and refracting off rain-washed streets. The light is warm and cold at the same time and when an unexpected breath of wind disturbs the calm of the leaves outside the window shadows flicker and dance over Kyungsoo’s skin in a way that makes him look almost like a god.

“You look stupid,” he’s saying, shifting his weight easily, slowly, settling to press in closer. “Your eyes are all big. And your mouth’s open.” Kyungsoo runs the tip of one finger over Chanyeol’s bottom lip. “Might want to see to that.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol says - but his voice breaks when he speaks. Kyungsoo’s got one leg slung over him, straddling his hips. His thighs strain in his jeans and Chanyeol can almost hear the denim creaking under the pressure. “I’m just worn out.”

“Can you believe this?” Kyungsoo tips in - pulls Chanyeol’s head back by his hair, presses a kiss to his throat. “Five years ago you were some punk kid bussing tables–”

“–Five years ago you were a virgin with no friends–”

“–And now look at you,” Kyungsoo says, leaning back to punch Chanyeol in the shoulder. “Spending Sundays at the farmer’s market. Buying apples to make cider on the stove. Stopping by the grocery store on the way home to pick up halloween candy.”

“Oh. God.” Chanyeol collapses back on the couch. Stares dead-eyed up at the ceiling. “I’ve been domesticated.”

“Jongdae told me the term was ‘whipped,’” Kyungsoo says, “but 'domesticated’ works too. Mostly it’s funny that you’re out of breath just from carrying the apples up the stairs.”

“We live on the sixth floor,” Chanyeol protests. He tries to sit up to defend himself but Kyungsoo just pushes him down again. “'Soo–”

“Shh,” Kyungsoo says.

Kyungsoo’s still in his dark gray sweater, the cable-knit one that belonged to Jongin until it ended up in the dryer and had to be passed over to someone a little smaller. Chanyeol knows he’s got a white shirt on underneath because he always does, for one thing, but also because Chanyeol had watched him get dressed that morning with a dedication bordering on religious.

If he’s honest, Kyungsoo still kind of looks like a virgin - but at least he’s got friends, right? When they’d met Kyungsoo had hidden behind thick glasses and inside big coats and didn’t talk much even when Chanyeol badgered him every midnight shift when Kyungsoo sat at his regular booth with his laptop open and headphones on. Now… he still wears glasses and big puffy coats. He wears dad jeans and loafers and dark gray cable-knit sweaters from friends who accidentally stick them in the dryer. His last haircut was too short and he’s still growing it out and Chanyeol just wants to fuck him on the floor until they both pass out.

“We’ve got an hour,” Kyungsoo says suddenly, quietly, glancing up over Chanyeol’s shoulder to read the big clock on the wall in the dining room. He curves in and there are soft lips on Chanyeol’s temple, the shell of his ear, teeth over the helix. “We don’t have to be wearing real clothes until at least six.”

“Done and done,” Chanyeol breathes - and reaches up, peeling Kyungsoo’s sweater off of him, drags the sleeves down his arms, leaves his hair sticking up every which way as his head pops through the collar. “Only right that I get 'em off you first.”

Kyungsoo’s flushed pink under the heat of the sweater; his white undershirt clings just slightly to his skin with the barely-there damp of sweat left over from climbing six flights of stairs. He smells like soap, mostly, but also like the farmer’s market. Chai in his hair. Chocolate smudged on one thumb. He smells like soap and sweet, like smoke and salt and spice, and when Chanyeol pulls up the hem of his undershirt and nips at his chest he tastes like all of that and more.

The sound Kyungsoo makes can’t be called a whine - at least not if Chanyeol doesn’t want anything thrown at him - but it’s close. It’s an almost-whine, the kind of sound that Kyungsoo makes when he’s trying to breathe and bite his lip and swallow a moan of arousal all at once.

He’s thickly built in the kind of way only possible through work, actual work, not just going to the gym and shaving calories off meals with a scalpel. He cooks well and eats better. He can lift Chanyeol almost as easily as Chanyeol can lift him, but Chanyeol works hard to get there first every time so he rarely gets the chance.

The undershirt comes off too, then the zipper on Chanyeol’s sweatshirt slides down, then Kyungsoo’s belt is loose, then Chanyeol is tipping forward and standing up and kissing Kyungsoo as hard as he can while carrying him back into the bedroom.

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo chokes out - eyes dark, breath thick in his throat. “Chanyeol–”

“You’re so goddamn fuckable,” Chanyeol interrupts, dumping Kyungsoo down on the bed before falling forward to catch his weight on the edge of the mattress, knee between Kyungsoo’s thighs.

“Prove it,” Kyungsoo says, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

His skin is dark against the white cotton. His muscles are trembling, heart-shaped lips slick and bitten, goosebumps rising on his skin in the relative chill of the apartment after having spent all day in that damn gray sweater. His belt’s already loosened and Chanyeol doesn’t have to wonder how he tastes - but he checks anyway, just in case.

Sometimes Chanyeol doesn’t need this. Sometimes Chanyeol needs other things. Sometimes what Chanyeol needs is for Kyungsoo to take what he wants without holding himself back, but right now what Chanyeol needs is to take Kyungsoo apart from the inside and then piece him back together again in the low October light. (Burnt umber shining on sweat; the slick of Kyungsoo’s kiss catching that sharp cold blade of frozen light; heat humming under skin and filling the world with smoke and salt and spice.)

They don’t speak because they don’t have to. They’ve done all of this before, practiced it, perfected it - when Chanyeol swipes his thumb over Kyungsoo’s hip bone in just the right way it means Push Up; when Kyungsoo makes that one noise it means Take Off Everything; when Kyungsoo’s cock pulls free from the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and Chanyeol breathes the way he does it means something that doesn’t need words.

When Kyungsoo starts moaning Chanyeol pushes two fingers into his mouth. It’s not to keep him quiet, (sticking things in Kyungsoo’s mouth never results in quiet), just to give him something to keep him occupied as Chanyeol works slowly down his jaw and throat and collar bones.

“You’re fuckable,” Chanyeol says, repeating his thesis for emphasis. “You’re so fuckable you’ve got me going to farmer’s markets.” He crooks his fingers just slightly, pressing Kyungsoo’s tongue down against the floor of his mouth in a way that makes him whimper and struggle. “You’ve got me carrying apples up six flights of stairs.” One thumb traces that one muscle along Kyungsoo’s hip, the one that slides up and arches over and makes him look that one particular way in a pair of well-fitted jeans. “You’ve got me hosting dinner parties, for chrissakes.”

Kyungsoo sighs and groans, “domesticated,” when Chanyeol pulls his hand away to rifle around for the lube on the nightstand.

“Whipped,” Chanyeol confesses, slipping in the first finger.

When they’d first started having sex (it was almost like it happened by accident, like it was always supposed to happen, like they’d been having sex for ages already without realizing it) the whole foreplay thing was an inconvenience at best. A necessary evil. Something to get out of the way as quickly as possible so that the Real Fun could start.

Now Chanyeol is biting gently against Kyungsoo’s chest, making him moan and stutter as he wraps both arms around Chanyeol’s shoulders. Now he’s going slow, ignoring it when Kyungsoo cusses him out for being a tease. Now the Real Fun starts the second Chanyeol opens his eyes in the morning and sees Kyungsoo lying on the bed next to him, and just get increasingly more fun as Chanyeol works Kyungsoo open tauntingly while Kyungsoo whines and trembles and begs.

“Why,” Kyungsoo says at one point, thick voice pitched high as Chanyeol pushes in a second finger. “Yeol-ah - please–”

“Because,” Chanyeol says back - and makes sure to move in such a way that Kyungsoo can’t easily ask any more questions.

It’s been a while since they’ve used condoms (one had fallen out of his dresser drawer the other day and he’d briefly assumed it was a ramen flavor packet before realizing his mistake) but even so, there’s something about fucking Kyungsoo raw. Maybe it’s how warm he is. How tight he is. Maybe the sounds he makes feel closer and infinitely more intimate.

He gets Kyungsoo off fast. Fucks him through it. Flips him over and works him up all over again so that he’s begging for release.

Fucking farmer’s markets. Fucking apples. Kyungsoo’s goddamn fucking dark gray cable-knit sweater and goddamn fucking dad jeans and the way he looks, fucked out and utterly ravished.

“I love you,” Kyungsoo mumbles, slumped over Chanyeol’s bare chest with his eyes closed and sweat on his forehead.

“I love you too,” Chanyeol says back.

He’s whipped. He’s completely and undeniably whipped. But then Kyungsoo tastes like smoke and salt and spice, so it’s not like he really minds.


	2. lovin' the size

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> occurs one year prior to ch1

"'M asleep," Chanyeol said, one arm hooked over his eyes. "Go away."

Kyungsoo hung over him, straddling one of his long thin thighs and propping up his weight on the headboard. "It's dinnertime," he said, flicking Chanyeol's elbow. "If you don't eat your dinner you can't have dessert."

"Agh, fuck--" Chanyeol rolled over as far as he could with Kyungsoo pinning down one of his legs, pulling his elbow away and squinting up at Kyungsoo in an irritable glare. "Babe, c'mon, we were diving all day and I'm pooped. And don't hit me."

"It was a flick, not a hit." Kyungsoo flicked him again, just to punctuate it. "Don't be a baby. You really don't want to eat dinner?"

"Room service runs all night," Chanyeol tried to say, but he was cut off halfway through by a yawn. "I think I'll live. What?"

Kyungsoo had sat back on his heels, mouth set in what almost looked like a pout. "Asshole. Now it's even more embarrassing."

Chanyeol stared up at him. "What? What's embarrassing?"

"If you don't eat your dinner," Kyungsoo said, gesturing with his hands as though to indicate one thing at a time, "then you can't have dessert. I'm the dessert, Chanyeol."

The dessert? Kyungsoo looked like he was actually being serious. Tread carefully. "You're the dessert?"

"Sex is the dessert," Kyungsoo amended. "But I was hoping that it would be with me, specifically. You know. Me. Kyungsoo. Your husband."

"That's a good word," Chanyeol said, pushing up on his elbows, feeling his heart tighten for not even a fraction of a second.

"What? Dessert?"

"Husband," Chanyeol said, then grinned like an idiot and pushed up to press a kiss to the corner of Kyungsoo's mouth. "It's a good word. I'm down. What was that you were saying about dessert? Were you..." He fluttered his eyelashes coquettishly, putting on the pretense of innocence. "... coming on to me?"

Kyungsoo punched him in the shoulder. "Asshole. I'm your husband."

"All the more reason to - god, babe, okay now you actually are hitting—"

"Minseok told me to try it," Kyungsoo stuttered out, then promptly went pink from the ears in.

He probably shouldn’t have laughed but by the time that occurred to him he was already down for the count, falling back against the pillows and practically crying with it. "Fuck," he said, finally, running both hands through his hair as he coughed back coughs of left over laughter. "Oh my god. You just crashed and burned trying to use sex advice from Minseok. This is the best day of my married life so far."

"You've only been married for three days," Kyungsoo said. He was trying to look threatening and it was mostly just adorable. "You can't just say that every single day. I still want sex."

"I can and I will," Chanyeol said. He sat up, sliding both hands around Kyungsoo's waist to drag him a little farther up his thigh, tucking his face in against the place where Kyungsoo’s neck met his shoulder. (Kyungsoo smelled like sweat and seawater. Chanyeol was pretty sure that’s what he tasted like, too. Maybe he’d even get to find out.) "Every day we're married is going to be the best day of my married life."

"Oh, christ—"

"Too much?"

"That was the cheesiest thing you've ever said to me." Kyungsoo wriggled a little in Chanyeol's grip, not much more than a token resistance but enough that Chanyeol had to hold him just a little bit closer to keep him steady. He probably thought Chanyeol couldn’t tell yet, the way his dick was already hardening in his boxers, but then the element of surprise was never a bad thing.

They'd gotten back to the resort a few hours ago, overheated from the sun and salty from the sea and not a little delirious from spending all day either in a glass bottom boat or in the water. (Kyungsoo had enjoyed himself. Chanyeol had surprised an eel and never planned to go in the ocean ever again in his entire life.) Back in the room they barely had the energy to shower before passing out in their boxers on the huge king size bed under the ceiling fan.

"How's this for cheese," Chanyeol said, tipping forward just slightly to get into Kyungsoo's space. "I think I'm ready for dessert."

Kyungsoo groaned. "Okay. Enough. I don't know if I even want sex anymore if you're going to o-oh, oh _fuck—_ "

It wasn't hard, moving Kyungsoo around. He was small, light. Sometimes Chanyeol felt like he was almost a doll, with his smooth copper skin and his narrow shoulders and those eyes that stared unblinking at the world, as easy to pick up and kiss and fold up in his arms as a toy.

When Chanyeol flipped him onto his back he bounced a little, breath catching in his chest. "You're in trouble," he said, but his eyes were already contradicting him.

He’d seen Kyungsoo sing before (god, how many times?) and sometimes he almost got jealous, watching how lost he'd get in it - brows knitted together and eyes half closed and head tipped back with something that looked almost like ecstasy - but then again Chanyeol could pull him into that place harder and deeper than music ever could.

He slipped his hands up Kyungsoo's arms, pulling them up over his head before pinning him down with one big hand around both wrists. Brought up the thigh between Kyungsoo's legs. "Oh, _I'm_ the one in trouble. Here I was thinking that it was you."

Kyungsoo mewled, (a tight, high groan in the back of his throat), arching up off the bed and grinding down on Chanyeol's thigh. He looked almost drugged, eyelids slow as he moved.

"You're so small," Chanyeol sighed. He ran one palm up the side of Kyungsoo's ribcage, marveling all over again how big his hand looked in comparison. "Sometimes I'm almost worried I'm gonna break you, you’re so small."

"Don't," Kyungsoo said, a petulant note trembling in the back of his throat. He'd try to sound tough for a while, sometimes. (Sometimes Chanyeol held contests with himself to see how fast he could break down Kyungsoo's defenses, get him to squirm and gasp for it.) "I'm not small, you're - you're just too big."

"Yeah." The word came out low. Kyungsoo sucked in a breath and bit his perfectly formed bottom lip. "I'm too big. I could do whatever I wanted to you. You know that?"

“You’re such a—”

Chanyeol rolled his hips, grinding their cocks together, and tipped in close. “Answer the question, Soo-yah. I’m bigger than you. You know that?”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo said, voice cracking as he struggled ineffectually in Chanyeol’s grip. “But—”

“You’re small. You know that?”

“I’m not.”

“Tiny,” Chanyeol said, nuzzling into Kyungsoo’s throat and using the other hand to pull him up a little at the waist. “Delicate. I’m so much bigger than you.”

Kyungsoo arched up, head tipping back. “Chanyeol, I can’t believe how - _ah,_ fuck—”

He tasted good. He always tasted good, he always tasted crisp and clean and perfect, he always tasted like that current of heat under his skin. They'd arrived at the resort only yesterday but he'd already starting going tan from the sun and Chanyeol almost wondered if he'd taste sweeter the darker he got, like he'd been dipped in honey.

He was soft and smooth and hard and rough all at the same time, and his voice cracked and broke when Chanyeol nipped at his throat, at his shoulder, along the line of his collar bones.

Kyungsoo was small, and no matter how many times he threatened Chanyeol for saying so he still melted every time when Chanyeol held him down and reminded him who had the upper hand. Chanyeol hooked his fingers in the elastic waistband of Kyungsoo's boxer briefs and tugged them down, lifting his hips up off the bed to pull them down his thighs. (They were gray. All of Kyungsoo's underwear was gray. Their underwear drawer at home was half stormcloud and half peacock.)

"Fuck," Chanyeol said. It was hard to breathe at times like this, when Kyungsoo was naked and laid out on the bed like a goddamn buffet. "You're so fucking pretty."

"Shut up," Kyungsoo mumbled, blushing gently over his entire body. "I'm not."

Chanyeol kissed him. Invaded him. "I love you," he said. "I'm going to fuck you. I'm gonna have my way with you. You like that?"

"Yeah," Kyungsoo moaned, gasping into his mouth, pulling him closer. "Just fuck me."

They’d fucked once today already, Chanyeol holding Kyungsoo up against the shower wall and making the bathroom echo Kyungsoo’s voice back at him with every thrust, and three times yesterday - it was like Kyungsoo was on a hair trigger, needing him suddenly and unexpectedly and desperately. Chanyeol had somehow set him off helping him down from a too-tall car, rubbing his neck absent-mindedly, wrapping both arms around his shoulders in the kind of backhug that had never been particularly sexual before.

There was, (Chanyeol considered briefly, as he tugged his boxers down far enough to pull his dick out), the possibility that something had changed. At the airport a security agent had pegged them as newlyweds right from the get-go and taken it upon himself to tell them that things usually cooled down by the third year. Kyungsoo had frozen - in confusion, or surprise, or whatever else that went through his head when someone said something that didn’t quite mesh with his inner script - and Chanyeol had tamped down his annoyance to swoop in and sweep him very literally off his feet.

“We’ve been together for four years, actually.” He grinned, ignoring Kyungsoo’s squawk of protest. “Sorry about your shitty marriage, I have to go ravish my husband for fourteen consecutive days.”

“You didn’t have to pick me up,” Kyungsoo said later, mumbling the words under his breath as he twisted his hands in the bottom hem of his sweatshirt.

“How would he know you’re my short-ass husband if I didn’t? Open.” Chanyeol stuffed a bite of kimbap in Kyungsoo’s mouth and it shut him up long enough to board.

Kyungsoo had been getting set off by Chanyeol’s big hand covering both of his smaller ones. He’d gotten hard-ons just from Chanyeol wrapping around him like an oversized cephalopod. He’d always fought tooth and nail against being called short, or small, or little, or thin, or tiny—

—but now Chanyeol picked him up like a doll and Kyungsoo moaned, arched up off the mattress, practically trembled in Chanyeol’s hands.

The lube was a mess like it always was. Chanyeol was always a little bit too excited, a little bit too distracted, and it was a rare sexual encounter where the bottle didn’t get dropped even once. “So, wait - you wanna just—”

“What part of ‘just fuck me’ do you not understand?” Kyungsoo pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, pushing the back of his head into the mattress. “Just - just _fuck me,_ Chanyeol.”

They’d already had sex once today and three times yesterday, so when Chanyeol pushed two lubed up fingers into him the slide was easy. Smooth. Chanyeol pushed two fingers into him and Kyungsoo gasped, bit his lip, shuddered as he let his knees fall even farther apart to open himself up and let Chanyeol curve over him even closer.

“I like how small you are,” Chanyeol murmured, whispering words against the line of Kyungsoo’s throat. He crooked his fingers and Kyungsoo jerked, cried out, rocked down against his hand. “I like how I can pick you up like a toy. I like how I can move you around.”

“Oh my god—”

“Do you like how much bigger I am?” Chanyeol crept up Kyungsoo’s jaw, nipping at that soft, sweet place just below his ear. “Is that it? Do you like how small your hands are in mine?” Kyungsoo opened his mouth to speak but choked instead, groaning as Chanyeol’s fingers found the right rhythm. “Do you like how well my cock stretches you open?”

“Please,” Kyungsoo said, tongue thick in his mouth, eyes dark and stupid with arousal. “Chanyeol - Chanyeol _please_ —”

He pulled back long enough to stroke lube up and down the length of his dick. Kyungsoo lay on his back on the bed, lips parted, hips canted up, arms up over his head and legs slung easily over Chanyeol’s thighs as he knelt on the mattress between them. He looked so fucking good, tan and golden and sweating and perfect with his soft waist and sturdy thighs and perfectly-formed dick already leaking precum on the smooth plane of his lower stomach. He looked so good, he looked so fucking good, they’d been together for four years and still every day Chanyeol was pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

It was too much, the way Kyungsoo arched up and begged to be fucked, moaned when Chanyeol picked him up and moved him and flipped him over, sighed and gasped and rolled his hips every time Chanyeol reminded him how small he was. It was too much and Chanyeol couldn’t stop himself (didn’t want to stop himself) from grabbing Kyungsoo almost violently by the waist, dragging him down the bed and then up so that only his upper back and shoulders were still on the mattress.

“Hold your breath,” Chanyeol said, getting up on his knees to thrust slow and careful down into Kyungsoo’s tight heat.

It wasn’t like he needed to tell him, Kyungsoo always held his breath anyway. Chanyeol just liked to say it. It was like a little reminder that he was paying attention, maybe. Kyungsoo held his breath when Chanyeol pushed in, not letting out his first gasp of pleasure until Chanyeol was buried as deep as he’d go.

“You’re so good,” Chanyeol breathed, dragged Kyungsoo up the bed a little to help him sink in. Kyungsoo moaned, whined, the hum of his voice thick in his throat. “God - Kyungsoo, fuck—”

“Please,” Kyungsoo gasped, and god, he sounded practically drunk—

It started almost quiet, Kyungsoo biting his lips together and clinging for dear life to the pillows over his head, but after a minute Chanyeol found the right angle and the quiet was ruined - replaced by short clipped gasps, moans, choked out cries, the way Kyungsoo twisted and curled and struggled for breath.

Chanyeol always tried to start slow. Sometimes it even worked, but for the most part they just ended up fucking like their lives depended on it, Kyungsoo practically stuffing his fist in his mouth to reduce the danger of neighborly noise complaints. But now they were on their honeymoon, and who the hell would begrudge them this? Kyungsoo didn’t try to keep himself quiet and Chanyeol didn’t hold himself back.

Kyungsoo shook with the force of every thrust, scrambling to hold on to Chanyeol’s wrists. “Please,” he said, voice twisted and high. “Yeol, I’m—”

God, it was hard - Kyungsoo was perfect, beautifully debauched, on his back on the bed with his head thrown back and his nipples dark against his skin and fuck, fuck, his soft waist with its gentle curve that seemed molded to fit perfectly in Chanyeol’s hands. He was tempted to drag this out, make Kyungsoo sob and beg before finally getting permission to come, break the goddamn bed—

But fuck it. Fuck it, they were married now. They had time. Chanyeol had time, enough time to try anything. Everything. They’d drag things out as well as time their quickies for speed and efficiency. They’d try new positions. They’d try new configurations. Chanyeol pulled back and slammed back in, head full of everything they’d get to do - talk a lot, go traveling, go grocery shopping together, argue over which brand of gochujang is better, rush around in the morning together with barely time for a quick goodbye kiss - and god, this was everything he wanted.

They had time. They had the rest of their lives to learn the ins and outs of each other and how sentimental and disgusting was it that it was that thought that pushed Chanyeol over the edge?

They didn’t come together because sex is imperfect, even on honeymoons. Kyungsoo held on for dear life as Chanyeol gasped and clenched and pulsed through his orgasm. (They’d been stupid and emotional and myopic romantics and decided to leave condomless sex for after they got married and fuck, Chanyeol hadn’t thought that fucking Kyungsoo could be any better but then their wedding came and went and they had sex with no barrier between them and it got better.) Kyungsoo held on for dear life and loved every second of it.

Chanyeol let them both down slow, lowering Kyungsoo’s hips to the bed but not pulling out - instead tipping forward to catch his breath while hanging low over Kyungsoo’s chest.

“Oh my god,” Kyungsoo said, sliding two trembling hands up Chanyeol’s sides to press each fingertip into his back. He sounded calm, if a little out of breath, and he was just lying there shaking gently and staring up at the ceiling. “Holy fuck. That was - _ah_ —”

“I wanna apologize in advance,” Chanyeol interrupted, pulling his still-hard cock halfway out before rocking in again, “but I have to be cheesy. Sorry.”

Kyungsoo arched up, eyes blurry with sex. “Chanyeol—”

“I want to do everything with you,” Chanyeol said, voice rough as he murmured, gasping, against Kyungsoo’s throat. “I want to fuck you slow, I want to suck you off, I want to have quickies at, I don’t even know, the mens room at Disney World—”

“O-oh my god, I - no, we are _not_ doing that—”

“—I want to do laundry with you,” Chanyeol said, biting his way through the overstimulation as he quickened his pace. “I want to have fights over where to put the furniture. I want to kiss you on Christmas morning when you’ve only just woken up and your eyes are puffy and you’ve got pillow lines all over your face and your hair is a fucking, nhh, a-a fucking birds nest—”

Every slide he was hitting that one place that made Kyungsoo lose his mind every time. Chanyeol leaned down. Kissed Kyungsoo long and hard and deep, rocking in and out of him with his slowly softening cock. Gritted out a hoarse “I love you” against Kyungsoo’s lips.

Kyungsoo came, spilling in thick ropes over his stomach and sobbing out Chanyeol’s name like a prayer.

 

Later Kyungsoo complains about Chanyeol taking too long to decide on what to order for dinner off the room service menu. They lie on the king size bed, still naked and disgusting, and Kyungsoo says, “I’m going to grow old and die waiting for you.”

“A vow renewal?” Chanyeol shoots Kyungsoo a stupid lopsided grin over his menu. “Already?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kyungsoo sputters, but he’s already blushing.

“We’re married,” Chanyeol says, sliding over to press a chapped-lip kiss to Kyungsoo’s bare shoulder. “We got time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short domestic fluff

Park Chanyeol is loud. He knows he's loud, it's part of him, he's got both a literal and proverbial big mouth. He's tall, too. Broad. His feet are big, his hands are big, his ears are big. His clothes are big, even on him, because sometimes it's the only thing that makes him feel small. He takes up too much space all the time.

Do Kyungsoo is quiet. When he speaks it's soft and low and thoughtful, with a lot of pauses like he's lost his place in some invisible script. He's short. Narrow. His hands are careful. He wears neutral colors and thick-rimmed glasses and gets the same haircut every six weeks.

When people see them standing side by side it's like they're looking at two different but taxonomically similar species, evolved for very different purposes but now somehow finding each other in the crush and din of the modern era. When Chanyeol speaks it's often for two people. When Chanyeol falls into himself it's Kyungsoo who gets him out.

When Kyungsoo speaks, much of the time it's meant only for him. _Tell them we have an early morning tomorrow,_ Kyungsoo will murmur against Chanyeol's shoulder when he wants to leave a party in full swing. _Wake up,_ Kyungsoo will say, nudging him awake, _you put the waffle maker up too high and I can't reach._

Sometimes Chanyeol puts the waffle maker up too high just because he knows it'll get him five more minutes with Kyungsoo, five more minutes with their combined heat in their extra-long king-size bed, five more minutes with Kyungsoo's soft mouth and long eyelashes and slightly scratchy chin tucked into the hollow where Chanyeol's shoulder meets his neck. He's never told Kyungsoo this. He halfway suspects that Kyungsoo already knows.

Chanyeol is loud and Kyungsoo is quiet but sometimes Chanyeol wonders if he was born just to find Kyungsoo, to listen to him, to act as an amplifier for every thought and murmur. Chanyeol is big and Kyungsoo is small but sometimes Chanyeol thinks that maybe he was born just to find Kyungsoo, to be his shield, to build him up and help him be himself in a world that needs him so desperately.

Kyungsoo is small and quiet, but on the inside he's vast and unknowable, so honest and yet so infinitely complex.

Sometimes Chanyeol wants to keep Kyungsoo all to himself, hole up with him in their shared flat with a walk-in closet filled with Chanyeol's oversized clothes and a small no-nonsense dresser filled with Kyungsoo's black t-shirts and plain jeans and sweaters that look a little like maybe he bought them at Goodwill on Senior Discount Day. Their stovetop with only two working burners. Their toaster that has two settings: squishy and black. (It takes about three squishies to get it right. Kyungsoo prefers four.)

Mostly Chanyeol knows that he's the sidekick to Kyungsoo's quiet hero's journey. He's the megaphone through which Kyungsoo speaks. (Once he called himself the John the Baptist to Kyungsoo's Jesus but that got him a kick to the back of the knees.)

"You're perfect," he'll say to Kyungsoo sometimes.

"I love you," Kyungsoo will say back. "We need a new toaster."


End file.
